A/N: This is a fic I wrote for the Little Ezra Group I am currently haunting. The AU our favorite characters are playing around in was created by yours truly. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Magnificent Seven characters.
To Make Him Smile, a Little Ezra fanfic
Ezra paused in his work to swipe a hand across his sweaty forehead, his face lit with a tired, but happy smile.
Since finding a home in the small town of Four Corners, he found himself smiling more than he could ever recall doing in his young and tragic life.
Ever since his mother, Maude Standish, had passed away in a tragic stagecoach accident when he was four (which he suspected may have been intentional, as his mother had been running away from a failed attempt at a con at the time), he had been passed around from State to State, foster family to foster family, orphan home to orphan home.
Because of his 'haughty' demeanor, wide, confusing vocabulary, and a general dislike for anything involving dirt, as well as his mothers chosen vocation, many families refused to keep him, as he was, "A bad influence on the children" and "Unappreciative and unwilling to pull his weight". As a result, more often than not he would end up back at the nearest orphan home after merely a day or two.
Though the Heads of the orphan homes weren't very happy about this, there was nothing they could do about it, as they were required by law to give him shelter until legal age. Most chose to simply pass him off to other homes as quickly as possible, making him someone else's problem.
Some, however, chose to show their displeasure in a more physical way. While some would leave lasting physical marks, taking out their anger on his poor, fragile body, others, though not outwardly inflicting harm, would do their best to tear him apart inside, leaving their share of psychological scarring.
Due to all this, it was no surprise that young Ezra Standish found very little to smile about.
There were days when life just seemed too hard, when he just wanted to let go of all his carefully controlled emotions, his fears and sorrows, anger and tears, in a desperate cry for help; it was in those moments that he would hear what his mother had drilled into him time and time again, in her soft, cultured southern accent:
"Remember, Ezra dear, that this world is a place filled with greedy, uncaring, and dangerous people, who will feed upon your emotions like a parasite. To accomplish anything in life, to survive, one must learn to hide one's emotions, and one's feelings; to show one's true feelings is to leave one's self open to hurt and disappointment. Above all else, you must learn that in this life, there is no one, no one you can trust, other than yourself. Everyone lies, my darling; you will learn that, by trusting in someone and believing that they will always do what is right, you will only be setting yourself up for a terrible fall."
"Everyone desires something from life; whether large or insignificant, there is always something for them to gain. Nothing in life is done for free. There is no such thing as someone who 'gives' simply because they are 'giving'; neither does someone 'help' simply because they 'care'. No, Ezra, everything anyone does in life is in some way for personal gain. You must remember that; for many would have you believe otherwise."
He would remember those words the few times he tried to open up, let someone inside and give them his trust, only to have them brush him off like a forgotten toy, or worse, use that vulnerability to break him down and use him for their own purposes.
After awhile, through painful experience, he found that the only way for him to survive into adulthood, emotionally and physically intact, was to keep his true emotions hidden from everyone by locking them away, safe, where they couldn't be harmed.
Over time, he developed a blank, emotionless mask; it helped him to hide from the world, gave him a place where he could stay to nurse his wounds without showing how much it truly hurt every time he was rejected and scorned.
Than, one day, all that had changed.
--
He had been chosen, along with a small group of orphans, to once again be carted over to another State to see if there were any families willing to adopt them.
It was scorching hot, and with ten of them cramped into the small coach, Ezra was suffocating. He wished he hadn't been picked in the first place. It would undoubtedly turn out as it always did; either no one would bother to pick him and he would be sent back along with the other un-picked orphans, or some 'caring' family would choose him for whatever reason, only to tire of him after a few days and send him back anyway. Ezra wished this would just be over with, so he could get back to the Home and nurse his wounds in silence, after having his heart ripped out once again.
If he had known what would happen next, he would never even have considered thinking such a thing.
Soon after he had constructed this silent wish, the stagecoach (which had been elected for their use, to take them down to the nearest town) had overturned, crushing him and the other orphans beneath it's crushing weight.
A group of escaped convicts had seen them rolling slowly across the desert, and, thinking them easy prey and a good chance to get some free cash, had proceeded to attack their little procession, shooting the driver and their caretaker, who had been sitting up front, with cold abandon. The horses had spooked, tearing in all directions, flipping the wagon onto its side and pinning the children underneath, killing some instantly. The convicts, upon discovering that the coach was filled with children, not money-toting adults, became angry; one of them, a particularly nasty looking man, pulled out his gun and shot two of the nearest orphans, cursing loudly all the while.
As Ezra lay there, pinned near the door, pain wracking his body and the heat cooking him, wondering ironically if this was how his mother had felt as she died, he prayed like he had never prayed before; to a God that, admittedly, he had never really believed in. He prayed that someone would come, someone that would save them and get them out of there.
He prayed for the one thing that, though he knew it to be impossible, was his greatest, most carefully guarded wish. He prayed that there was someone who would save HIM, show him what it was like to be cared for, what it was like to be loved; someone who would always be there for him, who would never leave him and would love him for who he was.
He knew that this was not possible, for as his mother had said, and from personal experience, he knew that 'good' people did not exist, and the likely hood of his wish coming true was close to none. However, as he held his breath, terror gripping his heart, and stifled his pain-filled whimpers for fear that he would be heard, he concluded that, as it was likely he would die anyway, there really was no harm in it.
Little did he know, as he drifted into unconsciousness, that his prayer would soon be answered.
For his saviors, who had been tracking the convicts for days, had come upon the coach.
Seeing the men attacking the coach, shooting at its occupants, they hurried onward to subdue them before they could do too much damage. They attacked, though outnumbered two to one, and a short, but nasty fight ensued, the two heroes coming out the victors.
While one tied them up, the other went around to the side of the stagecoach, to see if anyone was injured. Upon seeing the two orphans who had been shot, and not finding a pulse, he felt a deep surge or anger. How could anyone do such a thing to a child? Was it possible for ANYONE to be so heartless?
As he searched around inside, he felt his heart sink as he found most of the orphans either already dead from their injuries, or too far gone for him to be of any help. As he reached through the door to feel for the pulse of one of the children, his heart skipped a beat as the small figure gave out a low moan.
"Hey, lil' pard, you hang in there for me, alright? I'll git you outta there in a jiffy," he said softly, relief clouding his voice.
As Ezra slowly drifted back into consciousness, his mind faintly registered a voice whispering assurances to him, even as his body cried out from the pain of being moved. As he fully came to, whimpering softly in pain, he realized that he was being carried out of the coach, away from his safe, though painful, hiding place. He panicked, struggling to get away, his mind stuck on a horrifying thought: this was the end; they were going to kill him!
"Easy there, pard, I ain't gonna hurt you. You calm down now, I's jus tryin' to help."
He unconsciously relaxed at the comforting tone of the voice, the fight going out of his body. As his sight blackened again, his last thought was, "I guess my prayer was answered after all."
--
It had been a long road to recovery from there, both physically and mentally. As one of only two survivors (the other one they weren't certain would ever wake up), he had still managed to acquire a large amount of injures, with a broken collarbone and wrist, as well as a few cracked and broken ribs.
The resident doctor, a kind, but persistent and fussy man, had treated his wounds and insisted he stay in bed until he healed, going so far as to threaten to tie him up if he tried to leave. Ezra, though unwilling, sullenly promised to cooperate.
The preacher, a big, towering man, had come in one time, when he was bored out of his mind. He was so bored, in fact, that he forgot to be intimidated by him. Gradually, as they talked, he found himself telling him of his prayer that day, stuck inside, with no way out. The big man had listened attentively, patiently answering all his questions about God and prayer. When he left, hours later, Ezra felt strangely at peace.
Another man, though he would say more 'boy' than 'man', came by as well, babbling about nothing and everything. Ezra found it rather alarming that anyone could say so much in one breath, but he held his tongue and obligingly nodded every few seconds, throwing in a 'yes' or 'of course' every once in awhile to appease him. He found him rather annoying, truthfully, but he had been nice enough to come over to entertain him, so he pasted a smile on his face, and continued to nod his head.
The next day, the hyper-active... man-boy had dragged in his three other friends, happily introducing them to him. As they said their names, he immediately recognized his saviors voice. Time seemed to stand still, as he looked into the face of his savior, the one who had taken him out of that hell.
Since than, Ezra, though still weary of trusting anyone, had felt himself inexplicably desiring the company of his savior (whose name he had learned from the man-boy) more and more with each passing day. He felt drawn to him somehow, and evidently so did he, as he visited whenever he could, sometimes more than twice a day.
As Ezra slowly began to trust the rag-tag bunch of men guarding the little town of Four Corners, they in turn slowly helped heal his heart and break down the mask which had adorned his face for so long. It was hard, and at times they seemed to be moving backwards rather than forwards, but they persevered, and slowly, Ezra began to trust.
And he also began to smile.
The first time he had truly smiled, his dimples showing and his bright green eyes sparkling with happiness, his self-proclaimed guardians had felt themselves melt. They had sworn, from than on, to make that smile appear as much as possible.
They held true to their word, trying their hardest to make him laugh and smile, playing games with him, doing tricks and telling stories, anything they could think of to bring about that small glimpse of heaven. As time went on, he began to respond to their ministrations, flashing that endearing smile almost every day. By the time he was ready to get up and move around, he already had most of the town ready to indulge his every whim.
He, of course, was oblivious to all this. Ezra was simply reveling in the joy he felt at being loved and cared for. It was an unfamiliar feeling, though a very welcome one, and he clung to it like a lifeline. As the caring continued, so also did those clouds of neglect and pain that had once marred his sweet face become a distant memory. He was, for the first time in his life, truly and wonderfully content.
Coming back to the present, Ezra put up a hand to shade his eyes, squinting up at the sky. If anyone had told him that in three years time he would be outside in the field, working to dig a hole for his latest prank, and enjoying it, well, frankly, he wouldn't have believed them.
He rested his arms on the too-big shovel. He had moved in with his 'Savior' soon after recovering. There were a few struggles, as Ezra was still too uncertain and insecure to trust anyone fully. It was difficult, trying to relearn everything you've been taught, and it was an ongoing battle, but one that his guardian seemed determined to win. And one, as Ezra had finally begun to believe, that he did not plan on giving up.
"Ezra!! Ezra, they're back!!"
He startled out of his thoughts at the loud voice of his friend, Billy Travis, shouting in his ear. He jerked his head in the direction he was pointing in, and sure enough, there across the horizon was the silhouette of four figures riding hard on their mounts, clouds of dust billowing behind them.
Ezra's mouth unconsciously twisted into his famous, heart-warming smile. HE was home, his guardian, whom he was slowly but surely learning to call 'Pa'. Learning to trust was an ongoing battle, surely, but with time, he was sure that it would be alright. Everything would work out in the end; like Josiah, they would just have to continue praying.
As they drew closer, he dropped the shovel and ran out to meet them. The figure in the forefront, after stopping a few feet from the running child, jumped off his horse and pulled him into a hug.
"Knew it was you, pard, could tell from miles 'way," a soft voice drawled in his ear. Ezra pulled back from the hug to look at his face questioningly.
"How? Even I couldn't see you from where I was standing. Surely it would be too far for even you to tell who I was?"
Vin Tanner smiled indulgently down at his young charge, no, his young son.
"Son, even from that distance, there ain't no way I wouldn' recognize your smile."
A/N: Like it? Hate it? Please review anyway, and tell me what you think. :D
- Achillies
"Arguing on the internet is like running in the Special Olympics; even if you win, you're still retarded."